


Memoirs of a Rogue Undead - Book 2

by Lironah



Series: Memoirs of a Rogue Undead [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 20:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lironah/pseuds/Lironah
Summary: My defiance of Sylvanas continues ... even if I must embrace death itself to stop her.
Series: Memoirs of a Rogue Undead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216880





	Memoirs of a Rogue Undead - Book 2

After the Fourth War ended, the question I was asked most frequently was, what would I do with my life now that I didn't have an enemy to fight?

In hindsight I realize that their questions were not about me. What the supplicant _really_ wanted to ask was, what should _I_ do with _my_ life, Lironah? Now that the things I bled for are safe, how can I go back to being the simple farmer/porter/crafter I was before?

If I had understood the question behind the question at that time, I might have said, do what you feel the most comfortable doing. Find what brings you joy, and do that. Be the person only you can be.

I wasn't really much of an inspirational speaker back then, and of course I missed the subtext more often than not, and so I would answer honestly: I don't know.

Part of me longed to go back to the peaceful farming life I lived before my undeath. I envied the Zandalari at the docks hauling in their catch; the smell reminded me of the home I grew up in on the shores of Gilneas. Certainly in those days I felt more at home in Zandalar than Orgrimmar or even Stranglethorn, and so it was there that I remained - awaiting perhaps a fresh call to arms from the Horde or Queen Talanji. The Queen didn't have time to speak with me, and I understood that. She had a nation to run, and plenty of new responsibilities to whittle away what free time she might have had before she ascended to the throne.

That was the problem with all of my fellow champions, alas. Rokhan was now a chieftain, Admiral Tattersail had a fleet to run, and despite Lilian's protestations that she would not lead the Forsaken, she was still busy making sure her successor had as little work to do when they took the position as she could manage.

I alone was left without a purpose. Discarded, though the Heart of Azeroth still hung around my neck. I wonder if they were afraid to give me something to do, lest another crisis came up and someone should need to be a hero again. Or maybe someone had noticed my problem with portals, and was concerned that I didn't always end up _when_ I wanted to be.

I spent those next months exploring, for the most part. There were still uncharted corners of Vol'dun full of Ashvane holdouts, and here and there were shipfuls of Alliance soldiers turned pirate who couldn't seem to let the war end. I even explored Kul Tiras, though most of it from wyvern-back as its citizens still carried a strong anti-Horde sentiment. I certainly wasn't interested in running into Proudmoore or her ilk - not with the ink barely dry upon the treaties. That might have caused an incident perhaps not reparable by my friends on the Horde Council, whom I respected too much to cause them grief over such a personal grudge.

On that day, that terrible day when the sky cracked open over Northrend, I happened to be in Warbeast Kraal tending to my little direhorn friend. She was growing quite fast at that point, and sometimes needed a firm hand to remind her to stay in the corral (or rescue her from trouble when she got out), so I tried to stop by at least once a week or so.

The summons came while I was mucking out the pen (because of course it did), and I remember being a little short with the messenger. What could possibly be so dire that I couldn't change into a clean shirt before I opened it?

I regretted my tone when I read the contents. Thrall and Baine, _taken_? And by _Sylvanas_ , if the reports were to believed?

At that moment I understood. The reason I hadn't settled down - who could gainsay me if I claimed a place anywhere the Horde held sway? - and the reason no one had tried to make me. Instinctively, subconsciously, I had known it wouldn't be long before she returned. No other force drives her so strongly as vengeance.

I flew to Northrend as quickly as I was able, and for once the portal didn't thwart me. (I imagine Chromie had a vested interest in my timely arrival.) The bitter winds cut deeply enough for even my undead flesh to feel it as I wheeled down toward what was left of the Argent tournament grounds and got my orders.

Surveillance came first, then the sort of surgical strikes I was known for executing so well. Days of that, and no sign of Thrall or the others. Despite this, and the Scourge pouring down out of the very _sky_ , there was a general feeling that all would be well as soon as we found where Sylvanas had taken our beloved former Warchief and his friends.

The reality took a few weeks to sink in. Sylvanas was ... nowhere. Thrall was nowhere. Of Baine and Jaina and Anduin there was not one single whisper.

Finally the tide of Scourge ebbed. Had it all been some great distraction? Was Syvlanas watching us from some hidden position, laughing as we began to shatter from despair?

And then, another summons. Not a general call this time, but rather a messenger sent to take me, personally, to Icecrown itself, to join the leaders of both Horde and Alliance. There I met Bolvar Fordragon - not dead as most had believed - who said Sylvanas had taken our friends into the realm of Death itself.

There was not a person present who did not find this news terrifying. How could you rescue someone from the land of the dead? If Sylvanas had broken the veil between Azeroth and the world beyond, what was to keep the entire world from being swallowed next?

Yes, we were all terrified - but I believe myself moreso than any other.

They all had reasons to be there; the Death Knights obeyed their lord, and were the guardians of this place. Greymane and Tyrande, Lor'themar and Thalyssra were all leaders of their respective peoples. They were there to make a decision.

I was not.

I was there because, once the decision was made, someone would have to carry it out.

I hung back while they discussed their options, standing beside the Death Knight, Nazgrim. I found his presence somewhat comforting, both as a fellow undead (of sorts - yes I understand the difference), and for his heavily-armored, Orcish bulk.

"Why me?" I asked, trying not to let my terror show but probably failing. "Of all the people you could have sent for ... why was I chosen?"

Nazgrim considered me for a moment. A Death Knight's gaze is never warm, but it seemed to me a few degrees above their standard chill.

"Because we knew you would come," he said, in a voice which sounded like an echo through a long, empty hallway.

I felt my back straighten, and some of my fear faded into a sort of numbness that would shield me against the worst of what I was about to experience. I found myself nodding.

No matter my fear, no matter the danger to myself or what I was doing at the time - when Thrall had need of me, I always came.


End file.
